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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255154">sweet creature</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians'>peachesandlesbians</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>if music be the food of love, play on [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Devil Wears Prada (2006)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 06:42:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,012</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255154</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachesandlesbians/pseuds/peachesandlesbians</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherever Andy goes, Miranda brings her home.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>if music be the food of love, play on [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>169</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sweet creature</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>this was inspiried by harry styles' "sweet creature" which is a straight up bop. i changed the lyrics a bit lmao. this could also be viewed as a sequel to "silver springs" if you need a happy ending. see, i deliver :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Sweet creature </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Had another thought about where it's going wrong </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I’m still young </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I don't know where I’m going </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I know where I belong </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Andy thought about Miranda a lot ever since Paris. All the time. The bitterness she clung onto was replaced by a melancholy understanding. She could feel herself morphing into someone she wanted to be. Someone obsessed with the wrong things, someone a bit crueler, someone who had their eyes shut tightly. But after Paris, her eyes were opened, and nothing looked the same as it did before.</p><p> </p><p>Still. Andy should’ve stuck it out through Paris, at least, then firmly told Miranda she wasn’t going to be on this path, and then left. Maybe that way Miranda would forgive her. Or perhaps she would’ve asked Andy to stay. What would she have done then?</p><p> </p><p>Well, it didn’t matter anyway. Andy was on a diverging path, just like she wanted. She would be forever on this path—alone—headed to God-knows-where. Headed to something better, she hoped. So she had to make peace with her past, otherwise, she would always spend the rest of her life looking over her shoulder.</p><p> </p><p>And yet, all the paths she imagined in her mind led to Miranda. Miranda laughing, Miranda gazing at her adoringly, Miranda, Miranda, Miranda.</p><p> </p><p>Andy let out a mirthless laugh, covering her face. Was it too much of a cliché to say she belonged in Miranda’s arms? </p><p> </p><p>Probably. </p><p> </p><p>(But it was still true.)</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sweet creature </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I’m running through the garden </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Oh, where nothing bothered us </em>
</p><p>
  <em> But I’m still young </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I always think about you and how we don't speak enough </em>
</p><p> </p><p>From her position at the top of the stairs, Andy glanced around the room, soaking in the feeling of déjà vu. She’d been to small parties, but nothing like <em> this </em> before. This was a gala, a spectacle, an extravaganza of the biggest kind. And it was all in her honour. </p><p> </p><p>“Can I just say that your article on the refugee crisis was just <em> fantastic</em>? Goodness, it made me think so much! Don’t you agree, Earl?” Some fancy lady of some fancy company gushed as she tugged on her husband’s arm. </p><p> </p><p>“Indeed. You sure do have some talent, Miss Sachs. I’m sure you’re going to win tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you so much, sir.” Andy smiled politely, racking her brain for his name. Earl, Earl … Wasn’t she introduced to an Earl last month?</p><p> </p><p>“Well, we won’t take up more of your time. I’m sure you have a whole adoring crowd to speak to!” They all shared a laugh, Andy with a different reason than the others.</p><p> </p><p>Another rich, boring couple took their spot, and the feeling of déjà vu came back like a wave. It was like the last gala she attended—the one where Miranda wore <em> that </em> Valentino. (If she wasn’t in love then, that was the moment she fell.) All night long, she whispered names of important guests in Miranda’s ear, watching as her fake smile stayed plastered on her face. Every conversation was filled with niceties about the most ridiculous things, like the new penthouse so-and-so bought for 3.4 million or someone’s affair with their nanny. To be honest, who had the time to care about this crap?</p><p> </p><p>What was it Miranda said to her that fateful night in Paris? Oh yes, “everybody wants to be us.” As if she could forget that. But if this was what being “us” meant—or more accurately, being a fraction like Miranda—Andy couldn’t understand why everyone wanted this life so much. From her tenure at <em> Runway</em>, all she saw at these parties was how fake everyone was. </p><p> </p><p>Of course, Andy understood she was incredibly privileged and rather conceited to be thinking these things, but, well. She didn’t want to be like Miranda in this instance. To be so lonely, even amongst a sea of people that loved her. To laugh at things she would rather frown upon. To talk, only to have no one listen.</p><p> </p><p><em> Oh, don't be ridiculous, Andrea. Everybody wants this. </em> <em> Everybody wants to be us. </em></p><p> </p><p>“Are you alright, Miss Sachs? You’re looking a bit pale.” A concerned-looking man reached out to touch her elbow, and she flinched. For one ghastly second, his kindly face morphed into Stephen’s leer. </p><p> </p><p>“I-I’m fine. Please excuse me. I’m feeling a bit lightheaded. It’s the nerves, I think.” Andy sent her best smile at him, though it came out as more of a grimace.</p><p> </p><p>Air. She needed air. </p><p> </p><p>Andy strode through the room, neatly avoiding anyone who tried to talk to her, just like she saw Miranda do on countless occasions. No one gave her a second look when she exited the gala and doubled around the back to a spacious garden. </p><p> </p><p>Miranda would have loved something like this. Andy wandered on a stone path flanked by blooming roses, then through a trellis with vines hanging down the sides. Mid-walk, the roses were replaced by blue flowers, she couldn’t tell what. The grass was greener than she had ever seen, calling for her to lay down and take a quick nap. Although it was late at night, she could still hear some animals. There was a bench neatly placed in the shade, but she opted to pass it and entered a maze. It was peaceful here, just what she needed.</p><p> </p><p>Still, Andy let out a bitter chuckle, the writer side of her acknowledging the irony of feeling lost and practically being lost. But she would find her way to the exit eventually.</p><p> </p><p>“ ‘I need a mother. I need a father. I need some older, wiser being to cry to. I talk to God but the sky is empty.’ ” Andy whispered, quoting one of her favourite passages from Sylvia Plath. It took on a whole new meaning when she was an adult and supposed to have her life together. On a whim, she looked up to the sky and pleaded, “Miranda? What do I do?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> I’m not happy. I feel like I have no direction. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>There was no response, of course. She didn’t know why she was hoping for one. But if she could close her eyes and <em> imagine </em>…</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Why are you so unhappy, my darling? You’re young, beautiful, successful, and about to win a prestigious journalism award.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I’m not that young anymore, Miranda.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh, you’re barely thirty. Stop acting like you’ve wasted your youth.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I know I haven’t.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “... That said, my point still stands.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “True.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “So?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I feel so empty all the time. Maybe because I’m without you, but all the parties and the chit-chat, it doesn’t appeal to me. It never did. I just want to write in peace. That distracts me.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Darling...” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “And I know how pathetic I sound, but I want to write something that matters. Or do something that matters. I just want to matter. But here I am, rubbing elbows with New York’s worst and playing pretend. I’m so tired of it all.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You silly girl.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I think that’s bad.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “It’s bad that you’re so silly.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Here it comes.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Don’t you realize you matter to me?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“<em> I—wait, what?” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Not only that, but don’t you realize you matter to every one of those refugees you wrote about?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Miranda?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hush, you silly girl. I’m not finished. As I was saying. You’ve shed a light on the horrors of immigrating to a country that doesn’t want you. You’ve given those people hope.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Hope.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Do you remember what I said about hope?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You live on it.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “And now everyone who feels lost—not unlike you—lives on it too. The people you’ve impacted aren’t in those gilded rooms, yes, but that doesn’t mean they’re insignificant. Don’t you see you’ve already left your mark on the world?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I…” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Oh, and Andrea?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Yes, Miranda?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “You’re not empty, or broken, or anything like that.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Then what am I?” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “Lonely, my dearest. You’re lonely.”  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “... I miss you. Very much.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> “I know, darling.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Andy nearly tripped over her feet when she realized she was exiting the maze. She stared at the walls in amazement.</p><p> </p><p>She made it through. </p><p> </p><p>A young man, probably one of the staff at the event, rushed over. “Ma’am! I was looking for you! The finalists are being announced!”</p><p> </p><p>“My apologies. I just got lost in the garden. Beautiful, isn’t it?” </p><p> </p><p>He nodded slowly. “Yes, ma’am.”</p><p> </p><p><em> Ma’am</em>. Andy internally sighed. She really was getting old. “Let’s go, then.”</p><p> </p><p>As Andy left the maze and the garden, a small whisper floated across the lawn, faint enough that she questioned if the voice said what it said. <em> “You know where I am if you need me.” </em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em> And oh we started </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Two hearts in one home </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know, it's hard when we argued </em>
</p><p>
  <em> We're both stubborn </em>
</p><p>
  <em> I know, but oh </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ever since that night in the garden when Andy “talked” to Miranda, she felt a stirring in her heart. But it wasn’t a bad tug of the heartstrings; it was more like she was a puppet, and someone was trying to tug them together. Like they were soulmates or something like that. </p><p> </p><p>In a way, they were. What were the chances that she would have met Miranda and gotten a job at Runway on that day, at that time?  One in a million or something like that. To be able to have the chance to work so closely with Miranda and to grow with her was something else entirely. Andy chuckled. Was it too much to call their meeting fate? Because it certainly changed her life on an irreversible path. </p><p> </p><p>But if it was fate, or destiny, or pure luck, then why hasn’t Miranda called or emailed or done something, anything? Didn’t Andy mean something to her?</p><p> </p><p>Andy could call Miranda right now. She could totally pick up her phone and punch in the numbers permanently engraved in her brain. She could. </p><p> </p><p>But she wouldn’t.</p><p> </p><p>Andy shook her head, smiling sadly. They were both so stubborn and foolish. But mostly they were afraid, more than anything.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sweet creature, sweet creature </em>
</p><p>
  <em> Wherever I go, you bring me home </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Andy sighed, staring at the ceiling of a hotel room. This was her sixth time being out of New York in the last two months. Covering politics meant being sent to various states, and she usually enjoyed the chance to see new places, eat new food, and meet new people. Her trips usually lasted for a weekend, but this time, she asked her boss to stay longer. So here she was in California, about 3,000 miles away from New York, depending on which highway she took. </p><p> </p><p>This week-long visit was supposed to be like a vacation, but it just made Andy think about her future at 3 AM. Could she continue this life? Oh, she loved writing just as much as she did when she first started, but this nomadic lifestyle left much to be desired. Would she spend the next five, ten years wandering from state to state? Having one-night stands with blue-eyed women when she got lonely? Wishing for a partner and a family, one certain partner in particular? Was it too much to ask for someone to come home to at the end of a long day?</p><p> </p><p>Andy knew she was verging into dangerous territory, but she couldn’t help it. Being truthful was important to her, and she had to admit to herself—she missed Miranda. During dark, cold nights, it was too difficult to pretend. After so many long years, she still missed the woman she left behind. </p><p> </p><p>Andy groaned and turned on her side, pulling the covers over her head as if that could stop her thoughts. What could she do to stop the loneliness that weighed on her chest, stealing the breath out of her lungs?</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t just drive back to New York and knock on Miranda’s door, asking to be taken back. This wasn’t a romance movie. There would be no happy ending for her. </p><p> </p><p>… But what if? What if Andy would drive to Miranda’s home instead of her apartment? Would she open the door like it was routine? Or would she eviscerate Andy where she stood?</p><p> </p><p>The latter. Most likely the latter.</p><p><br/>“Ugh!” Andy yelled into her pillow. “It’s not happening. Get that out of your head, Sachs!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Don’t you want to see her again? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Of course I do,” she said aloud. “But I can’t be a weirdo and show up out of nowhere!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> You could. Miranda would be happy to see you. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“No, she wouldn’t.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> How do you know if you don’t try? </em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Why the hell am I talking to myself?” Another yell, this time accompanied by punches to her pillow. In one swift moment, she jumped off the bed and paced around the room, newfound energy buzzing through her veins for the first time in a while before plopping into a rather stained, ratty chair. As she wrapped her arms around herself, she forlornly glanced around the hotel room. The space left much to be desired, and there was a musky smell wafting in the air. Not exactly a five-star hotel.</p><p> </p><p>Andy took one more look at the blandness of the hotel room before shaking her head. This wasn’t what she wanted in her life if she could even call her existence that. She couldn’t live one more second, take one more breath, think one more thought without Miranda. Andy needed her. </p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>This was such a bad idea. Andy fiddled with the side of her jeans, rubbing her finger up and down. Why couldn’t she email Miranda like a normal person? Oh, right, because some idiotic part of her craved to see Miranda today, even if it was for just a second. </p><p> </p><p>Andy still had her key to Miranda’s house, but it didn’t feel right to use it. It just didn’t. Knocking didn’t feel right either, probably because it would give Miranda a heart attack if she walked into her home and saw her daughters talking to Andy. So she was regulated to taking a seat on the front porch, hoping that no one would call the police on her. </p><p> </p><p>Really, “went to jail for stalking Miranda Priestly” would look terrible on her CV.</p><p> </p><p>Andy leaned her head against one of the pillars of the porch, taking advantage of the quiet to close her eyes and take deep breaths. Besides the obvious, this could be one of the most peaceful moments of her life. Her jacket hugged her body, there was no noise besides birds chirping, and the sun warmed Andy enough that she was quite tempted to take a nap. </p><p> </p><p>No. Andy shook her head. She was not going to look like a hobo when Miranda came back. That would definitely get her called into jail.</p><p> </p><p>Andy bit her lip, forcing her mind to concentrate. If she was stressed over a problem, she needed to fix it. So, she needed to say something, anything to Miranda. The question was what. </p><p> </p><p><em> Hi, Miranda. I missed you. </em> Andy grimaced. Was that too forward? That was totally too forward.</p><p> </p><p><em> It’s been a long time since we talked. </em>No, Paris could hardly be considered a talk. </p><p> </p><p><em> Good afternoon, Miranda. Do you mind if I come inside? </em> Inviting herself into Miranda’s house seemed a bit too premature, so that wouldn’t work. </p><p> </p><p>Andy scowled. She was an award-winning journalist, but she couldn’t put together a sentence that sounded right. She groaned, leaning her head back against the pillar, only opening her eyes when she heard a car. </p><p> </p><p>Oh, no. Hell no. This was not happening. She was not ready. </p><p> </p><p>It was funny how the moment Andy dreaded came in slow motion. A black Mercedes she would’ve recognized anyway turned the corner, slowing to a stop in front of her. </p><p> </p><p>Was Miranda lowering her sunglasses in disbelief? Was she scowling at her annoying ex-assistant from getting in the way of a relaxing bath? Or was she completely indifferent? Which was worse?</p><p> </p><p>The car door opened, and one black heel stepped out. Then the other. Andy exhaled, dragging her eyes up long, toned legs and past the off-the-shoulder white dress that matched Miranda’s hair. She lingered on a gold chain necklace with a pendant that dropped in between Miranda’s breasts before taking in a deep breath and raising her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>Stunned blue eyes met hers. God. Andy would have killed someone if Miranda would have glanced her way as a reward. </p><p> </p><p>But along with shock, Andy spotted something else. There was fear. A hesitant, trembling fear that suggested Miranda was afraid she was looking at a mirage. That if they touched, Andy would disappear again. </p><p> </p><p>And she couldn’t have that. </p><p> </p><p>Andy took two long strides before rushing into Miranda’s arms, barely registering the fact that she flung her thousand dollar (or more) purse onto the ground. </p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Miranda whispered, wrapping her arms around Andy’s neck. </p><p> </p><p>Andy closed her eyes. She knew what Miranda meant. With their arms around each other and their bodies melded together so no inch of space was between them, it was like they were made for each other. </p><p> </p><p>After a couple of seconds, Miranda still clung to Andy, so she nuzzled Miranda’s silky soft hair then pressed kisses to her exposed neck. “I’m here.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Miranda said again. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m here,” Andy repeated, this time kissing Miranda’s equally soft cheek, savoring the whimper she let out. </p><p> </p><p>As if reassured Andy wasn’t going to leave, Miranda took a step back but grabbed onto Andy’s hands. With a smile, she let her. </p><p> </p><p>“You’re home.”</p><p> </p><p>Andy’s smile grew. “I am.”</p><p> </p><p>“I missed you. Very much.” Miranda’s voice was still filled with uncertainty and more than anything, she wanted to make Miranda see this wasn’t some elaborate prank. </p><p> </p><p>“Me too.” Finally, Andy had the chance to ask the one question that lingered in her mind every day. “Did you ever think of me?”</p><p> </p><p>Miranda smiled (one of the most beautiful things she’d ever seen in her life) and reached up to trace Andy’s face. “No, darling, I dreamt of you.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> Sweet creature, sweet creature </em>
</p><p>
  <em> When I run out of road, you bring me home </em>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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